


Give Place Unto Wrath

by festethejester



Category: Amnesia: The Dark Descent
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Crossdressing, Genderbending, We love that for her, she totally pulled a viola from twelfth night
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28371579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/festethejester/pseuds/festethejester
Summary: 1839. An ambitious young woman's innocent curiosity leads her down a bloody path to the floor of a strange, dark, dangerous palace with no memory of her past or identity, and no way out but to run. On that endless day in August, she must destroy what she thinks is the Devil in the centre of Hell before time runs out, and answer the question: is anything truly good or evil?(tl;dr the fancy bit: a mostly (but definitely not 100%) accurate retelling of Amnesia: The Dark Descent where daniel is a young woman disguised as a man in order to have opportunities in the victorian era, and all the events that follow)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. PROLOGUE

_19 August, 1839_

_Sunrise_

-

**"Dearly beloved, avenge not yourselves, but rather give place unto wrath: for it is written, _Vengeance is mine; I will repay_ , saith the Lord."**

**Romans 12:19**

-

Somewhere within the slick stone of Castle Brennenburg, there was a gasp to wake the dead.

The lusty hot breath of summer had sucked her clothes to her back, sweat bleeding through the thin cotton of her bloodstained white shirt and into the dilapidated brown jacket draped on her emaciated shoulders. Her calves, firm and strong, began to freeze in her soaking wet boots. All around she felt an air of contradiction - too hot to move, too cold to stay still. Too dry and dehydrated, yet soaked thoroughly with stink enough to sink if submerged.

Yellow heat pierced the window - it was just past dawn. The young woman would swear that in the beams of light streaming through the glass, she could nearly see sparkling golden sands like fairy dust floating in the still wind. The scent of the Mediterranean filled the air as she watched the particles dance - but strangely enough she couldn’t recall ever having  been  to that particular sea.

The little dream vanished, as if someone had swatted the magic from the air with their thoughtless hand. 

The girl lay on her side, shuddering from the single drop of sweat racing across her neck. With a moan, she slammed her hand to the cobblestone, desperate to wake up from the half-death she had been asleep in. 

Soon followed her knees, bruised and battered as her arm. _Good God, what have I been thrown into?_ The only words she could force herself to form were ones not spoken aloud.

She stood on legs set on giving out any second as the world could not stand still. _Perhaps down there was the right idea,_ she let out a laugh hollowed of pitch or melody, less in joy and more in disbelief.

In the room, or what was visible of it, were shelves upon shelves of books, swaddled in dust as if they had not been opened for centuries. One candle sat atop a rotted wood desk, illuminating a parchment that carried marks of being ripped from a book. _Must have been in a hurry,_ the woman observed. _Look at the line of that tear - can't have been good, certainly._

Not without protests from her aching muscles the woman shifted her weight into the desk chair she had hobbled over to, grabbing at the freshly-inked note. She noticed with apprehension that the handwriting looked so hurried one could have guessed the author thought they were to die at any moment during its completion.

“ **I don’t know how much you’ll remember.** ”

_ Christ, is there something I ought to? _

“ **If the innocence we once possessed has returned to you, even briefly, then please listen to me carefully.**

**I cannot explain to you what events have led up to the moment that you have woken up, but know this: I have taken the coward's path and _chosen_ to forget. God willing you will never have to learn the extent of the evils you have done, but there is only one way to avenge yourself and those who are now unable to seek justice for themselves: destroy the man who orchestrated the irreparable corruption of your spirit.**”

Something solid and immovable lodged in her throat, and could not be cleared by a swallow. Her hands began to tremble almost imperceptibly, and it seemed every part of her body disappeared, except a heart beating wildly like a battle drum approaching the enemy’s front line.

“ **It is my hope that the name ‘Alexander’ still rightfully fills you with bitter hatred. You must go to the deepest point of this place - the Inner Sanctum - where he lies waiting, and kill him.** ”

The paper crumpled at the corner from the clenching of her shaking fist. 

“ **For the innocents**.”

Pale pink bile on the floor.

“ **For their souls.** ”

The same colour dotting the cobbled stone floors ahead, whispering for her to come closer.

“ **For yourself.** ”

The  _click click_ of her boots booming within the chamber that was silent as a morgue.

“ **Good luck.**

_Your former self_.”


	2. 19 January, 1839

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ At last I understood Pandora. I was being handed the choice to burden myself with the hidden knowledge of the world, or live forever in blind, idle ignorance.
> 
> But I have always known what kind of person I am. I am the one that would shatter that vase without a second thought if it meant I could have every answer I could ask for instead of spending my numbered days listless and wondering.”

_19 January, 1839_

_7 months ago_

_University of Cambridge_

I'd been called urgently back to Cambridge from London only one week after the new year. Professor Thurston Herbert, my most honoured mentor, had implied that it was an invitation of the highest import. My stomach was contorted into a twist, simultaneously terrified and thrilled. I was residing in a rented room in Herbert’s absurdly spacious flat in Mayfair, so the outcome of this meeting could very well determine whether or not I’d return with only the clothes on my back.

Either I had done something so egregious I'd be put down in the university's history as its most scandalous pupil, or my deception was only furthering my success.

In the privacy of the coach I tried to sleep, but the bitter chill bit through my meagre coat and scarf. I could feel the very blood fighting its way through my veins, pulsing my nervous heart as I saw the familiar bricks of Cambridge appear white and bleary through the glass and snow.

A small smile escaped me; I could remember this very sight of the glittering halls clearly from my years in attendance. Deadly serious young men traipsed about in the snow with their books strapped to their backs, though I could tell some with a positively wicked twinkle in their eyes would, at the first provocation, have thrown the snow at each other like the children they once were.

Some things certainly hadn’t changed.

I heard the crunch of my boot acutely in the snow as I strode into the building with a quite put-upon swagger. _Better to take bigger steps to get whatever this summons is over with than delay it by being mousy_ , I determined.

The door to Professor Herbert's office was, as usual, closed. He had always told me to not bother knocking, that I was simply welcomed in, but I always knocked anyways. I suppose it was my natural tendency to apologise to those I respected before they could find fault with me in the first place. From behind the door, I heard his gruff, "One moment!"

"One moment," in Herbert's dialect, meant he'd keep you outside the door until he damn well felt like letting you in, so I gently called to him out loud.

Then came an abrupt sound like a swinging of boots from the desk to the floor (though he'd never admit to being so very improper in public), landing with a thud and followed by one, two, three, four, five, six firm strides to the door. He did love to make his entrances, Herbert.

With a quick swing of the door and a ruffle of his moustache, he greeted me cordially: "Daniel, my boy! Do come in."

 _Alright, no bothering with the niceties_ , I observed. _Could be taken as either completely neutral or a cordial set-up for a nasty fall_.

I hid my racing thoughts behind a polite curve of the lip as he guided me to the seat across from the supremely organised desk I'd sat at many a time.

Herbert lowered himself into his grand chair and sat facing me with the posture of a general. We in his circle of favourites would joke that, with his extraordinarily upright temperament, he seemed rather like the beleaguered captain of a rambunctious battalion.

I folded my arms quietly over my tensed legs, my fingers clutching the loose end of my scarf that hang down from my neck, and said not a word. The cards were on his table now. And he quirked one thick eyebrow at my uncharacteristic silence.

"Well, boy, has London sapped the life out of you already?"

"Not quite yet, sir. I'm getting on quite alright in your excellent rooms - and Regent's Park offers something in the way of solace on the days it threatens to."

The thin line of his lips curled ever so slightly in amusement. "Good lad." He noticed the handle of his teacup was turned the incorrect direction for his immaculately neat desk, and took a long moment to gently twist it into its proper position. Satisfied, he continued: "Rather nasty city in my opinion, London. Too many people, the air is rank. But no matter, because that said it does have much in the way of our profession. I presume you've visited the British Museum?"

"Of course, sir. Customary for any self-respecting admirer of history."

"I'd say customary for any self-respecting citizen of this great empire," he interjected. "Now, straight to the point, my lad: the Museum has at last granted me the means and authorisation for an expedition to Algeria. The purpose is to bring back a highly sought-after artifact or two. Before I describe anything to you further, I must know: how is y—“

"Yes, sir! Gladly, too. No need to ask twice—“

"Well it seems there is no need to ask once! Slow _down_ , Daniel. I promise there are enough minutes in the day for you to get a word in." Though said sternly, I could feel the warmth behind his chastising.

I don't think it arrogant to tell you that I was, by far, his favourite student.

"My apologies, professor," I settled back down in my seat with a cheeky glint in my eye. 

"Quite alright. Now," he shifted a singular paper away from the centre of the desk, revealing a letter written in swirling French. "An old colleague in Algiers tells me he has the map to what we seek: the tomb of Tin Hinan, the Mother of Us All.”

”Brilliant, sir. And who is Tin Hinan?”

”That is precisely what we have been tasked with learning, my boy. To our current knowledge, she was a much-venerated ruler, and the founder, of the Tuareg peoples in Northern Africa. As they did not keep written records, little is known about the woman herself. Should we find the tomb, it could uncover crucial information about an almost entirely unknown slice of history, and yield priceless trinkets to take back to the museum.”

He leaned forward with an air of confidentiality, as if he knew the outside world was listening. They could not be privy to this thrilling knowledge.

”Young man, we could be on the brink of creating an entirely new chapter of history. To excel in the study of an existing civilisation is honourable, yes...but to be the answer to one of the world’s most burning questions? To educate the rest of the world about her life, her culture, her very burial rites? Why, it’s nothing less than remarkable.”

I sat rapt with curiosity. What an extraordinary thing, to be the first let in on a secret. Where most words evaporated into the air, dead and forgotten, Herbert was placing a locked case full of them into my open palm. It was only natural I felt a small twitch of fear, the boiling, quick heat of “no” shooting up my spine like lightning on metal.

At last I understood Pandora. I was being handed the choice to burden myself with the hidden knowledge of the world, or live forever in blind, idle ignorance.

But I have always known what kind of person I am. I am the one that would shatter that vase without a second thought if it meant I could have every answer I could ask for instead of spending my numbered days listless and wondering.

“When do we depart?”

With a sudden laugh, Herbert slapped the top of the desk with pleasure. 

“Fantastic news. Now then, you did not allow me the chance to ask you,” he gave me a playfully annoyed glare. “How is your French? I recall you were rather proficient in languages.”

”Yes indeed, sir - I received high marks in French, German, and Latin. I assure you, at least the French will require only a moment of revision.” I thought to sprinkle in my other achievements, just in case he had any other projects in mind. Just in case.

”Such confidence. Fine then, we depart early March. You ought to go home and prepare - revise your French, pack your things, and do remember to take care of your health. The desert is unforgiving to even the fittest.”

With a firm handshake, a wink, and a clap on the back, the conversation ended. I almost ignored the need to redress for the blustery weather, as my shock and awe overcame my practicality.

It was dark when I finally entered my room at the inn. I rushed to the table and fondled my way around the desk for a candle, lighting it so rapidly I’m sure even the stars could not have lit up quicker.   
  


I noticed then that my breath had become a pant. Then, out of nowhere, it was a laugh. One laugh turned to many, and soon I was laughing so profoundly, so joyfully, that I could feel the oppressive binding over my breasts straining to hold in the happiness spilling from my lips. My body was nothing more than a dam, barely shielding everything else from the surge of emotion pouring out of me.

Surely, the neighbours must have thought me some kind of witch from my unrestrained cackling.

But it made no odds to me.

I carried deliriously on with my routine: methodically removing my clever little disguise, bathing, and repeating my nightly ritual of looking in the mirror to remind myself of who lives beneath the façade. 

I practically fell into bed and slipped effortlessly to sleep, exhausted, ecstatic, expectant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go! Testing out the nonlinear narrative here. I promise we’ll get back to Brennenburg. 
> 
> Already having fun coming up with “Daniel”’s attitude and personality. Update soon! x

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this brainchild swirling in my head for a couple of years now, and I've finally come round to writing it at long last. I've always wondered what the implications of Amnesia's (in my opinion) brilliant story about morality, choice, and manipulation would be were the protagonist a woman rather than a man. The goal of this story is a retelling of The Dark Descent that explores what we think of Daniel in this context, and if it has changed at all. However, I will be making this woman a distinct character with a personality of her own, though she will share all the central qualities of the Daniel we know and love(?).
> 
> Also because I'm a slut for Gothic horror and I love this game, so there's that. :)
> 
> In my brain, this looks like an HBO miniseries, and as I write I see it play in front of me. It is written with a cinematic lens.
> 
> The basics are:  
> 1\. Everyone is exactly the same except Daniel, who is a woman (no name yet, spoilers!).  
> 2\. This will follow the key events of the original game with regard to the basic plot, but there will absolutely be some variation.  
> 3\. I will update the tags as the chapters go on as to not spoil the future chapters (with the exception of potentially R-rated content - that will be tagged as quickly as I think it will start appearing). Suspense and the drama of not knowing is super important to me, and one of my fave immersive elements of the original game!
> 
> I hope you guys stick around for the future chapters! I'm in university, so no promises on regular updates, but this is something I am highly passionate about and will do my best to see through to the end in a reasonable frame of time.
> 
> I hope all of you who read this are safe, healthy, and happy even in these circumstances. Happy New Year!


End file.
